Wednesday, October 02, 2019


Just unearthed an old tin of McCelland's Honeydew. Which, to most of my friends, will be utterly uninteresting, as they neither smoke nor appreciate stinky old toads doing so nearby. That could change. To quote from the tin description, it is "a subtly sweet, fragrant tobacco in the Irish tradition".
It's perfumed with melon. Subtle is not the word that comes to mind.
And it is perfect for lighting up on Saint Patrick's Day.
To mask the bonfire of leprechauns.

The tin dates from 2003, so the tobacco is well-aged; sixteen years of fecund reek, with a yellowed label, well preserved. Even from this distance, I can tell that you are beaming with joy. "Finally", you are thinking, "a product that will cancel out the ghastly odours of pumpkin spice which otherwise would dominate your candles, your neighborhood Starbucks (or equivalent vendors of flavoured coffee crap), cake shops near and far, and the personal choice of perfume of your maiden aunts, for the next three months".

As a single man of restraint and relatively decent taste with no relatives in Northern California, I tend not to smoke aromatics (sweetened tobaccos), intensely dislike flavoured coffee drinks, and snarl at the seasonal insanity of hallowe'en, thanksgiving, and christmas. There is no reason at all to puff on something that simple minded people will exclaim over ("oh, that smells so nice, it's festive"), good coffee is its own perfect flavour unless it's been heating in the pot all day in a diner, and the forced cheeriness of holidays leaves me out, leaves me cold, and gives me gas.

Never-the-less. I will smoke it. It still smells of melon, so the consumption of this product will be intended ironically. It will be well-suited for irritating a co-worker (you know who you are), as well as celebrating or lamenting whatever happens with Proposition C in San Francisco (where I live), which would overturn the ban on flavoured tobacco products, and which will probably not be passed by the voters this November.

Because even old fuddy-duddy pipe mixtures like reprehensible Virginias with Vegas hooker topdressings rope in little children, which is what they are meant to do. All over California, there are savage throngs of depraved grammar school kids fighting to get into smokers emporia so that they can purchase St. Bruno, 1792 Flake, Erinmore, and Ennerdale. As well as Acid Cigars (which have been reliably described as "Urinal Cake Stogies").

When I restore collectable used pipes, it is so the younger generation has something affordable to smoke. Bless them.

A second hand Dunhill, for instance, costs anywhere from two hundred to eight hundred dollars, well within the price range of the average ten year old, Loewes, Sasienis, and Comoys, can range from around eighty five dollars to several hundred, and Petersons can be found as low as fifty bucks.

All perfect pipes to puff while playing World of Warcraft.
Or cruising for porn on the internet.

It's all about the children.
Isn't it?


By the way: Columbus Day, Fleetweek, Hardly Strictly Bluegrass, and my birthday, all overlap this year. This is NOT something to look forward to. Other than spending the day trying to quietly enjoy my pipe, no plans.


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